


Slow Hand, Easy Touch

by DenaCeleste



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #JustFuckMeUp Fest, #justfuckmeup2, Anal Sex, Artistic cutting, Body Modification, Bottom Hannibal, Come Marking, Dom Hannibal, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Sub Will Graham, abbreviated orgasm, at-home body mod, mutual possessiveness, ruined orgasm, slight reference to breath play/choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste/pseuds/DenaCeleste
Summary: "Are you ready?" Hannibal asked in the softest voice. Those clever, delicate hands drifted over his face slowly, and he didn't so much relax as release a small amount of tension."Yeah, I think so." Will huffed out a laugh. "Much as I can be."Hannibal kissed his forehead like a blessing. "It's going to be beautiful, dear Will.""Your artistic touch has always been impressive. I expect nothing less."





	Slow Hand, Easy Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I listen to Slow Hand by The Pointer Sisters and then wonder, "Hm, you know...Hannibal was a surgeon. I bet he could have a deliberately slow and easy touch. And likely he could take his time, not come and go in a heated rush. Oookaaay, guess I'm writing something." 
> 
> ...and then I talk to my friends Cutie and Mys, and between them get the inspiration for the possessive marking. Of course, it then spiraled from a fic that was going to be about at-home body mod in the form of artistic cutting into abbreviated orgasms (aka ruined orgasms) for Will, and Hannibal taking a ride. And some praise kink sprinkled throughout.
> 
> Because why not. And that I got the inspiration during the JustFuckMeUp Fest is sort of delicious icing on this cake. <3 Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> **Some warning for descriptions of cutting and the sensation of being cut upon.**

Will's breath shuddered out at the clatter of metal on metal. The table he lay on was padded, firm, supportive. Uncomfortable, but he had a feeling that'd be the least of his worries in a few moments. 

"Are you ready?" Hannibal asked in the softest voice. Those clever, delicate hands drifted over his face slowly, and he didn't so much relax as release a small amount of tension. 

"Yeah, I think so." Will huffed out a laugh. "Much as I can be." 

Hannibal kissed his forehead like a blessing. "It's going to be beautiful, dear Will." 

"Your artistic touch has always been impressive. I expect nothing less." His throat clicked when he swallowed. 

Hannibal sanitized the area, and Will's heartbeat thrummed in his ears while his skin buzzed with anticipation.

"Then I shall begin. Please remain still." Hannibal selected the first of his tools. 

At first, it was just cold and sharp, and he didn't realize the first cut had opened until the air stung his exposed flesh. After that, it was line after line of fire. 

The pain was exquisite, and his focus rested on it. He couldn't see the work Hannibal's exacting strokes created on his chest, could only stare at the ceiling and use his peripheral vision to examine Hannibal's expressions, to follow the dancing glint of the scalpel held just so. 

He dipped into the pool of his empathy, just a touch, but the smug satisfaction radiating from Hannibal was almost sexual in nature. At least, that's how his body interpreted it, and with the endorphins rushing through him like a river of intensity, he started to respond to that, warmth pooling low as he relaxed into Hannibal's capable hands. 

His mind quieted the longer it went on, minute after minute, cut after careful cut. His breathing hitched at various points, but Hannibal shushed him like he did when the nightmares came. When nothing but external pain and a solid hand at his throat could detract from the chaos inside. 

Like a ritual, the fire Hannibal left in the wake of his scalpel intensified with every decisive slice, sharp corners and delicate curves melding into a design of their choosing. 

Eventually, as all things must, the pattern came to an end. One, two, three more burning lines, and Hannibal set the scalpel aside. 

“Next is the ink, dear Will,” Hannibal rumbled in a low voice. Will shivered and stayed in place, his face and back damp with cooling sweat. 

He hissed as the ink pooled in the center of his chest, as Hannibal smoothed it into each line of split flesh. Absorbed in the dull pain, he focused on his breathing as Hannibal cleaned everything up, then helped Will to his feet and walked over to the mirror mounted on the wall. 

He stared at his reflection, leaning back when Hannibal came up behind him and rested one hand on his naked hip, the other on his belly, just beneath the gorgeous work of art on his chest. 

Antlers sprouted from his breastbone, each one ending in four delicate points. From the left, a raven’s feather drifted down with a subtle curve. 

“It’s perfect,” Will choked out. They would have to take careful measure to make sure the ink set in and that it healed properly, but the design mesmerized him. 

Hannibal hummed and set his chin on Will’s shoulder, the fabric of his clothing silky smooth against Will’s back. “Yes. The most beautiful designs are those we craft together, don’t you think?” His hand crept over, hovering just above Will’s cock. 

Will let his head fall back and rolled his forehead against Hannibal’s neck. “We really do.” 

He gasped when that hand, the very same one which had incised his flesh so beautifully, circled him with deliberate delicacy. The sensation was too much and not enough, all at once. 

“Watch for me, my love,” Hannibal requested, soft words hiding the firm command for what it was. But, Will knew. 

He always knew. He gathered himself, turning his head slow and steady, until he could see them in the mirror once again. His dick twitched, grew hard, harder, and slick at the tip, with hardly any movement from Hannibal. It never took much. 

Hannibal clasped his other hand around Will’s neck, firm but not obstructing him in any way, merely keeping his attention. “I’ve marked you, and now I want you to mark me in turn. Do you understand?” 

Will grunted, and went along when Hannibal turned him and pressed him back against the cool surface of the mirror. “Yeah, got it.” 

“Good,” Hannibal said, a small smile curving his mouth before he knelt between Will’s legs. He held Will’s gaze and refused to let him hide. 

He moved his hand at a glacial pace. Slow, gentle, and Will’s hips stuttered into the loose circle of Hannibal’s fingers. 

“Please,” he begged in a desperate whisper, and Hannibal’s smile only grew, eyes warm and expectant as he shook his head. 

“You’ll come this way. You know you will. The barest trace of touch against such a sensitive area,” Hannibal crooned, “and the arousal will continue to build.” 

“Hannibal, I need--” He paused, swallowing hard when the hand disappeared altogether. 

“You need what I tell you that you need, dear Will.” Hannibal waited, his patience with Will just about endless, and Will settled down, breath evening out, heartbeat slowing from its race. 

“Good, very good,” Hannibal praised, and a flush crept its way down Will’s cheeks, over his chest, and made the new artwork there sting horribly. 

It just made him harder, more fraught, and he opened himself to Hannibal again. Smug pleasure and a voracious need to consume rolled through Will, and once again Hannibal moved his hand in such a way as to barely touch Will’s cock. He was beside himself, but he didn’t ask again, not with words, just noises, imploring little whimpers that made Hannibal’s eyes sparkle. 

It wasn’t there yet, nowhere near close enough, and then suddenly it was upon him, his gut clenching, pleasure racing through him, dick jerking, and a stream of semen dripped onto Hannibal; on his face, his neck, staining his shirt. That fucking hand still didn’t clench around him, didn’t even touch him at this point, but he humped into it anyway, unable to stop himself, wanting that feeling of completion. Instead, he remained hard, unsatisfied, even as warmth suffused his body. 

“You’re so good for me, Will.” Hannibal licked his lips, getting what wasn’t soaked into his shirt onto his fingers and licking them clean. “Time for bed, I think.” 

When Will’s hands curled around the metal rods of the headboard, Hannibal got himself ready, slowly peeling out of his clothes before climbing atop Will’s supine form and stretching his hole open. His legs formed a sturdy cage that pinned Will in place, but was also oddly comforting. When Hannibal arched his back, his erection rubbed across Will’s straining cock. 

He whimpered, and Hannibal smiled. Of course he did. “Almost, dear Will.” He quickly--too damn quickly--slathered Will’s cock with lube, and in movements that were breathtakingly graceful, he knelt up and then took Will inside. 

Will gasped for air, his hands clenched around the headboard in much the same way Hannibal clenched around him, so tight, almost to the point of pain. “Fuck, please, Hannibal!” 

“Not until I’ve finished with you.” Hannibal rolled his hips, grinding down, his hands resting gently on Will’s belly. “Besides, you already had one orgasm. You should be fine for at least a little while longer.” 

All the lack of permission did was ramp up his desire further, set him precisely on the edge Hannibal loved to watch him waver on. 

Hannibal watched him with eyes almost as sharp as his scalpel, and Will couldn’t resist any longer. He opened himself again, wide enough to let Hannibal’s emotions flood him, and oh, what a flood it was. 

Smug pleasure, possessive ardor, the dark love that they shared between them, bittersweetly flowing through him like the finest chocolate. He wanted more, more, more, ravenous for it, for him, and now he couldn’t tell. Was he him, or was he Hannibal? The need went too deep for him to know, and he whined with every breath, trying not to come. 

“That’s a good boy,” Hannibal crooned, and he took himself in hand, stroking his cock with a much firmer hand than he’d applied to Will, twisting at the tip, a move Will knew intimately would get Hannibal off more quickly. 

He wanted to focus on the sensation of Hannibal wrapped around him, tight and hot and rhythmically squeezing around him, but he couldn’t shut his eyes. He got closer and closer, and when Hannibal tipped his head back with a low groan, he very nearly came. 

Will gritted his teeth, back arching and gaze trapped on Hannibal, who snapped, “Now, come now!” 

So, he did, groan punching out of him as he drilled himself into Hannibal, using his grip on the headboard and his heels on the bed to give himself as much leverage as he could. Hannibal let loose with a low chuckle, making sure he didn’t shoot over any of Will’s chest. 

“That’s what I wanted to see. Me marked by you, and you marked by me,” Hannibal murmured, leaning down to press his mouth to Will’s, gentle, coaxing, but no less intoxicating for it. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up and get your new artwork wrapped up for the night.” 

Will groaned and reached his hands out as Hannibal dismounted with a muted moan. “I don’t know if I can walk yet. Help me up?” 

“Anyone would think I’d been the one fucking you,” Hannibal teased, and Will snorted. “Come now, darling.” 

Will hissed when every move he made irritated the cutting. “Guess the endorphins are wearing off.” 

Hannibal cupped his hips from behind and walked him over to the bathroom, where all the supplies to wrap it up lay neatly on the counter. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can help you with that later. For now, just be my good boy and let me take care of you.” 

Will ducked his head as Hannibal pressed a few kisses to the back of his neck. “Okay, Hannibal. If I have to.” 

Hannibal’s laugh vibrated against his back, and Will couldn’t meet his gaze in the mirror, so instead he looked at his new mark, the antlers curving so beautifully, the feather designed in such a way that it looked as if the wind were barely touching it. He loved it. Loved the design, and the man who’d inspired it. 

“Thank you,” Will whispered. “For...all of it.” 

“Always, my love,” Hannibal responded with a nuzzle to Will’s shoulder. “Now let me get to work.” 

Will tried to contain his smile as he turned, but the fond expression on Hannibal’s face had it breaking free. “Yeah, you do that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come flail with me on [Tumblr](http://denaceleste.tumblr.com) and/or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/denaceleste)!


End file.
